


actions speak louder

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Extra Treat, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Thor's laugh cracks in disbelief. "Wait, you're saying we could have done this before?"
Relationships: Heimdall/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	actions speak louder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nununununu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this treat, Nununununu!

Thor should say so much to Heimdall in this moment. He's alive, thank the Norns. Has he seen a healer for his leg? Thor has never had a more loyal friend, nor Asgard a more true and worthy protector. And Thor should say that he is sorry; there was no other choice, but their home, everything… Asgard is gone. Thor will bear this grief and shame for the rest of his life.

Thor should say many things, but he should not kiss Heimdall. Should not even have the thought cross his mind.

There is no thought, only shock and relief and admiration and a hollow pit in Thor's stomach. Heimdall is alive, but their home is not. Asgard is gone, and they’re on a stolen ship going who-knows-where. Thor's shaking hands are on his face, overcome by gratitude and despair.

Thor feels the surprised tick of Heimdall's lips beneath his. It's the only hesitation Thor remembers before Heimdall gathers him close. Strong, sweat-slick arms bind Thor to his best friend. He cannot seem to force his hands from Heimdall's face, nor his mouth to mind its business. Heimdall's hand scales the line of Thor's back to shoulders sore with tension. Thor drinks down the patient groan Heimdall feeds him. His mouth slacks for the plunder of the man he trusts above all others. Thor knows he is shaking, but he can't help himself.

When at last Heimdall withdraws, Thor is short of breath. His mouth sting as he sets his weary forehead against Heimdall's brow. Heimdall's arms are still around him. Thor wonders if he would still be upright without them.

"I shouldn't have done that," Thor says.

"Has a healer seen to your eye?" Heimdall asks.

Right. Thor's eye, and his face tight with dried blood. Its pain is a distant twinge now, numb from the day's events. Thor's balance ails him most now. With only one eye, Thor cannot center himself. Heimdall is all around him and distant, his words heard but not seen.

"Has a healer seen to your leg?" Thor counters.

Heimdall smiles, a wry twitch of dark lips that gives Thor all the answer he needs. Thor scratches fingers across Heimdall's temples, gentle admonishment. He's yet to succeed in removing his hands from Heimdall's face.

"Tell me what this is," Heimdall says.

Thor swallows, but the balance does not restore itself. Every emotion he's buried deep refuses to hide any longer. "I expect nothing," Thor manages. His hands finally fall to his sides.

Heimdall watches him, ever the patient presence. "That isn't an answer," he says.

Thor chuckles and looks away. Even this is disorienting, turning with one eye instead of two. His vision tilts. The power that coursed through him on Asgard's surface has gone quiet, and he feels its absence like a haze of sleep.

"Forgive me," Thor says. "I didn't want to lose you. But you're here, and… I'm glad, Heimdall." He manages a smile. "I'm not strong like my Father, not yet. But I'll do my best in the days to come. I promise you."

Heimdall tips his head in turn, midnight braids down his shoulder. His treasure eyes narrow, they that have seen so much life and death. Worlds even beyond Thor's many travels. Kingdoms rising and setting, but none in as catastrophic a fashion as their own

Thor has not fully answered Heimdall's question. But he has as much as he can. "Tomorrow we'll all be better," Thor swears. "Sleep is the best aid we have right now."

Heimdall chuckles, and Thor waits for him to unhook his arms. It is a struggle to lean away from Heimdall and not towards, but it is one final battle Thor must endure. He will be stronger tomorrow. Strong as he has always been in the presence of his closest friend.

"Shall I lie with you?" Heimdall asks.

Thor's knees nearly give way at the question. He laughs unsteadily. A joke, of course, to break the tension after Thor's misstep. "That's very funny," he allows, though his heart squeezes uncomfortably. "Get some rest. And I expect you to see someone about that leg before-"

Thor's words stumble without warning, tripped by the kiss Heimdall presses to them. The arms around him tighten. Through his clothes, Heimdall is warm and strong. Thor's resolve snaps; he tangles hands in Heimdall's garments.

A groan of loss is off Thor's lips the moment Heimdall drifts from him. He tries to clear his head. "Heimdall, I-"

"Shall I lie with you?" Heimdall asks again.

Despite the many reasons why Thor should hold his ground, he finds himself nodding dumbly. At his answer, Heimdall smiles. Quiet but pleased, and Thor's breath squeezes from his lungs.

It's no wonder that accommodations on the Sakaarian ship are finer than most. If there was one area where the Grandmaster spared no expense, it was comfort. Thor's quarters may lack the regal touch of Asgard's palace, but the space is not small by any means. The door slides open and shut with an easy swish. Thor proceeds to the cabinet counter, drawing a small pink bottle of spirit from its surface. He tries not to give too much thought to his own appearance. The gaping chasm where his eye once was, the blood forming a cracked mask on his face.

"You need to clean and bandage it," Heimdall says. Thor follows his approach in the mirror.

Thor gives a rueful laugh. "We could both use our fair share of cleaning and bandaging."

"You're not wrong," Heimdall agrees. From the mirror, Thor watches Heimdall's arm slide around his waist. The support feels good, solid and sturdy.

Thor sees everything with the mirror's aid, but the hand that descends to his trousers still draws a gasp. Heimdall does not linger, but Thor already stirs. He shifts to allow Heimdall to unfasten his armor. His garments cling to a sweaty torso caked with its fair share of scratches and bruises.

Thor expects Heimdall to follow, but Heimdall resumes with Thor alone unclothed to the waist. From the glass, Thor watches his head lower, a kiss pressed open-mouthed to the back of his neck. Gentle fingers test the outline of Thor's largest bruise, a jagged mark along his left side.

Thor tangles his hand with Heimdall's, guiding Heimdall to the front of his pants. A squeeze of fingers and drag of Heimdall's tongue steal the breath from Thor's lungs. Heimdall is fuller against him, want swelled in his slacks. Thor grunts, caught off guard, and twists his head back. He's met by teeth scraped tenderly across his jaw. Thor's hand flexes absently against Heimdall's at the sting.

"You don't have to pity me." The words are off Thor's tongue before he can think to restrain them. Control has never been his strong suit, but at this secret Thor excelled until this evening. He held his tongue and hid the truth as far as he could from Heimdall's far-reaching view.

Heimdall makes a sound against his shoulder, as aggravated as it is amused. His arm flexes around Thor, the muscle of his forearm fluttering. Heimdall's arousal is more pronounced against him. Hunger dries Thor's throat, his desire a pathetic croak.

"I serve Asgard with every last shred of power I possess," Heimdall tells him. "But loyalty cannot dictate every action of a selfish man." He guides Thor to crane his head back further. Heat flushes Thor's neck. Heimdall's fingers rasp through his beard, and pleasure spikes through Thor's veins.

"I would have you," Heimdall says, unwavering. "I would have had you many times over. But say no, and this ends. You have my sword and my sight above all, my king."

Thor's laugh cracks in disbelief. "Wait, you're saying we could have done this before?"

Heimdall's gold gaze never strays from his face. "Many, many times," he says. His fingers scrape across Thor's jaw again, and down the tense curve of his throat.

Thor only manages a groan, desire and dismay propelling him forward. His kiss is more sure this time, but no less receptive. Despite the strain, he lets Heimdall guide his face closer. Thor hisses at the loss of pressure at his waist, his slacks guided off his hips.

The mirror paints an unthinkable picture. Thor dressed only by the arms of his best friend. Heat blossoms down his chest. Heimdall tests Thor with a squeeze, and his stomach seizes up. Thor strains back, tangling fingers in Heimdall's braids. He tugs when teeth catch his lip, chasing after the sweet pressure of Heimdall's mouth. Heimdall's clothing scratches at Thor's skin. Another clench of Thor's stomach, and he groans into Heimdall's mouth. His cock jumps in Heimdall's grasp.

"Come with me," Heimdall says, soft words in Thor's ear.

Thor would follow Heimdall anywhere in this moment, to Hel and beyond. But Heimdall guides them only to the small refresher connected to Thor's quarters. There is not much room, but the shower will allow a tight squeeze for two.

Heimdall begins to undress, but Thor stops him with hands on his shoulders. "I'll do it," he says.

Heimdall looks him in the eye, but curiosity does not delay his nod. The permission, immediate and firm, spikes Thor's pulse.

Heimdall is not in his armor. His tunic and pants are a simple task to be rid of. Still, Thor takes his time. This is a moment he's dreamed of, peeling fabric from Heimdall's war-warm skin. His sturdy presence flexes beneath Thor's fingers.

When Thor sinks to his knees, Heimdall takes a breath like he means to speak. He says nothing though, and Thor smiles as he unhooks the waist of Heimdall's trousers. If only Heimdall knew how long he's desired this. How the thought of peeling leather from the skin of Asgard's great guardian haunted his youth.

Thor kisses low on his abdomen, he can't help himself. He sucks on battle-salted skin as he eases the leather from Heimdall's thighs. Strong fingers comb through Thor's much shorter hair. He mourns the fact that there isn't enough for Heimdall to pull.

Breath puffing out, Thor turns for Heimdall's sex. He's large, firm already, and Thor nuzzles his cheek against him. Heimdall's fingers clench and a grunt huffs from his lips. Thor turns further, drags his tongue from base to tip. Eager, he opens his mouth wider, welcoming the shaft head with a hungry drag of his lips.

His remaining eye has just closed when he's wrenched back by a hand under his chin. Heimdall's cock slips from Thor's mouth with a wet pop. Thor blinks upward, not even feeling his own saliva on his lips.

Heimdall scratches fingers through Thor's beard. Thor hums with pent energy on his knees.

"Follow me," Heimdall says, and steps into the refresher. Thor doesn't make him ask twice.

The water is like a revelation, warm and soothing on aching muscles. Its spray drips from Heimdall's face and cascades down his chest. His skin seems to gleam with it, like Thor's under a storm. Thor groans at the sight of him alone. "I can't believe we could have done this before," he mutters.

Kissing Heimdall again is no less engrossing. Now, under the refresher's spray, Thor feels the tease of both the water and Heimdall's lips. Thor doesn't notice red joining water on the tile, but he does feel the tightness on his face ease. Dried blood melts away under Heimdall's wet touch.

Thor doesn't want to stop touching him or tasting him. Heimdall's admonishing "Thor" falls on dead ears as Thor licks a trail down Heimdall's neck to his chest. He sets hands on Heimdall's waist with reverence reserved for Asgard's sacred ceremonies. Thor traces lips between Heimdall's thighs, pleased by the way they tighten under him. He's cautious as he traces fingers next to the cut of the blade behind Heimdall's knee. Heimdall does not react to the touch.

"Is it bad?" Thor asks.

Heimdall sighs. "Quite the question from my one-eyed king."

Thor grins up at him. "A grave injury." He takes on his most serious tone. "I suppose you'll need assistance." Thor eases a hand around Heimdall's dripping base and gives his cock a lazy squeeze.

Heimdall gives no reaction save a minute twitch beneath his jaw. This alone heats the blood rushing through Thor's veins. His own need throbs through him, and he takes himself in hand as well.

"And what assistance will you need?" Heimdall asks. His eyes angle to where Thor touches himself.

"It is a king's duty to look after his people, Heimdall." Thor smiles through the words, and his hungry stare returns to the bounty in his grasp. He feeds himself slowly, lips parting to welcome Heimdall on his tongue.

Heimdall chuckles above him, warm and a touch ragged. "The sacred texts omit all reference to this duty."

Thor laughs too, brief and quiet. He leans in, gathering Heimdall between his lips. Large indeed. Thor's jaw warms with a welcome ache. Heimdall's hand returns to his hair, smearing short strands about as Thor tests his size. He nods forward and back, mouth slick and dripping with shower water.

Thor grips Heimdall's waist and urges him forward. Heimdall digs fingers against Thor's scalp in warning. Thor huffs but concedes, content with his fingers in the grooves of Heimdall's hips. He sinks deeper, cheeks hollowed and hungry. Fresh need spills through Thor's stomach. He fists his own cock harder.

Thor can barely think past the sensation of Heimdall's weight in his tongue. The stretch of Thor's lips aches down to his own cock. He nods down, testing himself. It's been so long since he's had the chance, and on his knees to boot. Would any other king in Asgard's rich history dare to prostrate themselves like this? A thrill shivers through the fingers Thor slides up Heimdall's stomach.

Heimdall takes Thor's hand. His grip is hard, like Thor's fingers are the hilt of the mighty Hofund. Thor bows his head to gather Heimdall's balls between his lips. They hang soft yet full, and Thor tongues them with a groan.

Everything becomes a smear. Falling water and the rush of Thor's blood through his veins. The disorienting blur of crouching low with one eye. The taste of Heimdall and the smell of his skin.

Thor does not realize Heimdall speaks until impatient fingers lift his chin. Thor gasps without his mouth full. His cock gives a yearning twitch between his fingers.

Thor must look particularly pathetic, because the dig of Heimdall's fingers softens. Heimdall gives Thor a look he has been seeing his whole life - bemused disapproval. "I didn't wait this long not to have you properly," Heimdall says.

"What about what I've waited for?" Thor sounds wretched, voice stretched thin and rasping. But he's already rising to his feet, lured by the promise of being taken.

It's not a surprise to find himself trapped in Heimdall's grasp as soon as he stands. He wasn't kidding about being selfish! Thor grins against Heimdall and has his lip bitten for it. Strong, dripping fingers wrap around his cock. Thor bows back with a startled hiss.

"Should I worry about you alerting our people to our affairs?" Heimdall asks.

Thor muffles his grumbles against Heimdall's ear. "I'm not sure, should you?" He caps the challenge with his tongue teased along Heimdall's earlobe.

He isn't expecting to be turned, let alone with such ease. His hands flatten to the shower wall, and Heimdall sinks against him. Heimdall noses Thor's hair. Thor shifts into the fingers that glide around him. His body is already lit with sensation, teeth grit against the buzz under his skin.

Thor nearly buckles at the stroke of Heimdall's other hand. Heimdall thumbs between his legs, and Thor's body flutters beneath him. "Is this what you want?" Heimdall asks.

"Gods, yes," Thor groans. He bows his head against the refresher wall, breathing into the steam. After a pause, he grumbles, "Are you only going to stand there?"

Heimdall answers through a chuckle, "You have the same patience in all things, I see."

"You try being patient after so damn long." Thor glowers over his shoulder.

Unprovoked, Heimdall shows Thor his slicked, soaped hands. Thor's temper recedes. With a soft, shuddering breath, he turns back around.

Thor spent much of his youth fantasizing about this moment. There were no refreshers in Thor's daydreams, but there was the thrill of giving Heimdall his back. Of allowing Heimdall vulnerability Thor has never offered any other man.

Reveries of youth cannot prepare Thor for the real thing. Heimdall's strong body at his back, warm and wet, slick hands easing his legs apart. Thor's heart quickens, and he bows his head to the tile.

Heimdall cups Thor's chin, startling a groan from him. "Say you trust me," Heimdall says.

Thor's laugh is immediate and confused. "Heimdall, I trust you with my life," he replies.

The answer earns a kiss, soft and tender enough to warm Thor even more than the shower steam. Thor relaxes even at the awkward angle, neck craning for more. He’s always had this side to him that sought after attention. In public, it made him brash, craving admiration and praise in his youth. But no growth of character can rid him of this desire. Not for power or victory, but for the approval of the few he truly cares for. To be wanted as he wants. To feel that after all they’ve lost, what Thor offers now can be enough.

Thor’s mouth drifts from Heimdall’s at the spread of his body. Heimdall’s hands move him like potter’s clay, like the eye of Asgard already knows Thor's body. What it will do, and what it _should_.

Now would be a good time to offer a witty comment about the many uses Heimdall may have once had for his talents. But wit is his brother’s forte, and Thor’s mind swims in too much of a haze to put thought into words. Heimdall’s lips graze his jaw, following it to his ear. Thor’s groan ends on a gasp.

Long has it been since Thor was breached. The absence has not been for lack of enjoyment; rather, lack of opportunity. As heir to the throne, even in Thor’s youth few occasions found Thor on his back. Bedding others, absolutely. But even at his most rebellious, there was a reputation to maintain - if not his own, then that of his royal house.

In the years that followed, when the title 'prince' accompanied Thor in name only, there was no time or interest. There was a returned Loki to contend with, followed by his death, followed by rebirth. There was the search for the Infinity Stones. The death of his father. Sakaar. And now, the death of an entire realm.

But it was never a lack of desire. The seed buried itself deep in the pit of Thor’s stomach, a seed that now blossoms like a forest sprung from nowhere. It takes the dip of one finger for Thor to tremble against the refresher wall. He must look stricken, because the pressure begins to recede. Thor’s heart drops to his stomach, and without thought he whispers, “No, Heimdall - don’t stop, please.”

Thor cannot think of a time when he sounded weaker. But it must be enough, because he gets more of what he desires. The feel of Heimdall’s skin joining with his. Mounting pressure between his legs, stretching parts of him not tested in years. Thor nods gratefully against the nose pressed to his scalp. His good eye hovers half-open, shower water dripping down his face like tears. Thor lets his vision sink to the other hand Heimdall braces against his stomach. His fingers are dark and strong. Thor wants them in his mouth and around his cock. He wants so many things he dared not put a voice to until now.

Heimdall is infuriatingly gentle, and Thor both loves and hates him for it. Thor would have Heimdall fill him to the max, take him with the rough assurance of the mighty warrior he is. Heimdall peels Thor open instead like a child afraid to split a single petal from a rose. He fingers Thor until Thor cannot refrain from squirming. He moans through the falling water, a tremor building in his thighs. The glide of Heimdall’s fingers could induce madness. Every stroke cracks away another piece of Thor’s pride. He finds he does not miss any of it, he just needs, and needs now.

“Did you ever look on me like this?” Thor asks. He almost succeeds in keeping his voice even, but the question cracks at the end.

“Like this? No.” Heimdall sounds as patient as his thrusts feel. A scream bubbles behind Thor’s clamped lips. “Those moments were not for me to see.”

Thor laughs weakly. “But you wanted to, didn't you?”

Heimdall pauses, fingers buried deep. Thor’s breath chokes in his throat.

“In truth? No,” Heimdall says. His fingers bend, a scrape of knuckles in the deepest of places. Thor has never heard himself make the sound he does in response. A whine strangles out of him, tight and desperate. Heimdall’s lips graze Thor’s shoulder in consolation. “I had no desire to look on you with others. It was when you were alone that I wavered. As you bathed, or as you undressed for sleep.”

In another setting, the admission would be worth a loud laugh and a clank of ales. Now, Thor does not breathe. If he does, he fears he may spend before even knowing Heimdall’s full weight inside him.

Heimdall must know Thor's struggle, he knows so many things. The pressure ebbs, and Thor is able to exhale. His muscles ache from tension.

Thor becomes aware of the laxness between his thighs. A gap he knows Heimdall intends to fill. Heimdall is large, blissfully so. Thor’s mouth forms the shape of encouragement, but he lacks the voice to push out any sound.

Thankfully, Heimdall does not make him wait. His first thrust is immediate, a claiming press that makes Thor scratch at the shower wall. He bobs forward, meeting the hand Heimdall decides at that moment to tighten around his sex. Thor throbs all over like an exposed artery. Maybe he moans, maybe he begs. He hears himself somewhere under the roar of the shower stream and the sound of Heimdall on his back. Every meeting of their skin is like a heartbeat. Pleasure blisters Thor’s body like a lightning strike on unsuspecting ground.

Heimdall squeezes, and Thor nearly loses his footing. Teeth scrape Thor’s shoulder. Thor's forehead is on an arm planted on the shower wall. He makes sounds without meaning, strangled and insistent. He must look and sound pathetic because Heimdall does not tease him for lack of discretion. Heimdall takes him without hesitation, leaving Thor’s body bruised.

“My king,” Heimdall says against Thor’s back.

Thor is aware of little beyond this. He is too full of pleasure, spilling over. It’s been too long since Thor has had anything close to this, and on an evening of unthinkable loss. Thor loses control, he has to. He feels too much in body and spirit, and shares too much with his dearest friend in turn.

Maybe Thor cries out, or it could be the hiss of the shower spray. He comes apart with a violent tremor, a shaking hand braced to the wall. Heat rises to his skin. The air grows thick around him, and for a moment the shower seems to stop.

Then, the water returns, and Thor folds against the wall, gasping for air through the waft of steam. He’s coherent enough to register the stutter of Heimdall’s waist, and the groan purred into his shoulder at Heimdall's release.

They breathe together, Heimdall’s arm around Thor’s midsection. Thor must be exhausted because he allows Heimdall to hold him without complaint. He focuses on the feel of Heimdall inside him.

“Your power,” Heimdall says against his back. “You’ll need to learn to control that.”

“What?” The single word slurs out clumsily. Thor manages a glance, and immediately his eye stings from the swell of the steam. Thicker than a sauna, as if the water around them has just been boiling.

Realization makes Thor’s eye twitch wider. “Oh. Right. I, um...suppose you can help me with that?”

The curl of Heimdall’s mouth gives his amusement away. “That can be arranged.”

Their kiss is soft and quick. Thor barely bites back his dismay when Heimdall draws from him and steps back. “Come on,” Heimdall says. “I’d say we’re clean enough.”

“Speak for yourself,” Thor says. But tired as he is, body sore and satisfied, he can't complain further when Heimdall leads the way from the shower. Toweling off is a chore, every bend a reminder of his emptiness that, moments ago, was so perfectly full.

Heimdall pauses before him, a single finger traced beside Thor’s missing eye. Thor manages to hold back his wince. “I’ll be fine,” he says.

“That’s true,” Heimdall agrees. “We'll all be fine, Thor.”

Thor looks into his eyes, finding nothing in their treasure chest but honesty. It’s what Heimdall believes. And if it’s what he believes, Thor can take comfort.

Smiling, Thor puts the last of his pride aside and allows Heimdall to lead him to bed.


End file.
